a delusory warm sunlight glow breaks in cracks
through the curtains in my room
energy leaves my body
as my breath is breathed into aching lungs
a haze encircles the breeze through the window
mirthless scenes begin, touching deep
dragging me down under
a happiness once felt, only brief
unbending alliances drift into my head
loss reverberates in droves
savage in it's descent
compassion destroying my senses
wild ashen gasps are delivered into the air
worn out from the drain
of surrendering to the senses
dissipation blurring the cost
as the bodies pass by, living in prism-ed hours
relief now only contained in my four walls
eyes close to balm
in the downcast chill that night's gift brings
Forged by fire, my burning heart
As the hammer pounds to shape
The sacrificial apatite of the gods
Within the delusory Dragons Den
And love hibernates in a Hellion hole
Where demons dine demanding death
A pernicious smell fouls the ambient air
The Hydra prepares to unleash her wrath
For love is mangled in the molded madness
Left to the ravaging ruins a statue appears.
May.26.2019
Pick A Tile, Vol 5
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Honorable Mention...Thank You
I foolishly fell from a mountainous high only to land on a desert dry
Images of liquid lust within my emotive eye calcified to a crusted cry
Warning winds in delusory distance holding hurricanes of resistance
Conjuring catacombs of assistance within isolation of nonexistence
The pensive pain penetrates as the perfidious palette perpetrates
Limbic resonance that hibernates awaking the storm that obliterates
Manipulation of the mangled mind Benedictine battery of the blind
Twisted temperance that is twined the cervical citadels are confined
Dormant delusions that may weep defiant deluge of twilight sleep
Restless roars that reap screaming shadows of the saporous sheep
Bactericidal beacons that bloom wandering the wounded womb
The slings and arrows of doom ebulliently entrapping to entomb.
March.24.2019
Pick A Title, Vol.3 Alliteration
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Placed 1'st...Thank You
The god, Bad and the Ugly
Every war has good people and bad people and many of
the bad are on our side. I remember the German occupation
of Norway living on a farm with a German military camp.
I met their soldiers and most of them only wanted to go home
to their families. The peace came and when the said soldiers
Who had been kind to me – a little boy- were marched out
among the jeering of the people who suddenly felt heroic
enough to throw stones at the soldiers. I have a tendency to feel
for the losers they fought on the wrong side and lost
their dignity. But there are times when one has to take a stand.
When I aired my views I was told to shut up by a man who had
supplied them with meat and potatoes, he was a bad person,
and the biggest rock but in a democracy we have to live with his
kind. I say this because the young men going to war In Syria or
elsewhere, might be wrong, but many of them are good people
who think they fight for delusory freedom of all Muslims
Silhouette framed by the outstretched window
The calling of unbarred freedom
Bare feet pressed against the cooling sill
Heels lift at the beckoning breeze
Chin skyward at the hope filled reddening heavens
A mind lost
A soul stolen
Delusory confidence laced appealment to soar
Compelled by a
Momentary
Greater authority
Fingertips let go
The leap of manic faith
The fall to pieces unrealized forever
A delusory pleasure bristled the solitary abator
And the dusky night rides down the sky
An ethereal beauty demoed with her au naturel demeanor
The solitary abator bumps with illusions, thus far realisms high.
Elated with red-hot mysticisms the abator closed his eyes
And mildly felt the zephyr over the mum wispy time
She reposed in her bareness beside his devout envies
The abator fluffed up ca-cacing his limbs to ease with spirit and bine.
An awaited soul perked up with flavour of lust and zeal
And the midnight silence prolonged to be livening with insidiousness
She abreast herself over his frvid spirit of unreal
The abator matte-up bosoming her with barmy tenderness.
The ravenous abator intimated himself in the same state of bareness
And the dark moonless night beamed with perfect ecstacy and elan
She ooohed legalizing the demon-ridden enduringness
The abator held himself with an abrupt spasmodic movement of his organ.
The wonky estrus abator coaxed himself with the pleasure of onanism
And the gentle breeze was felt to soothe the pragmatism
Slowly her au naturel beauty faded, idling the eroticism
Bequeathing the abator's midnight oneirism.
Fearful of everything long ago
I was strangled by the bonds that held me
You were but a shadow unformed
Come to untangle me from the long twisting ropes.
Terrified of life yet unlived
Knowing not what trials lay ahead
And then you were there, my savior from within
Holding out your hands, with so much there to give
Am I to hope to dream of the unspoken promise
Or am I delusory to the extreme
Help me free from my bondage
Make me come undone, unchain me with a kiss.
I refuse to think of these days as melancholy.
The “s” has been missing on my keyboard for about a year now,
and in that year I have felt great pleasure, surmounted
great obstacles, and have wrangled
and tormented over false outcomes;
the delusory greener grass.
Yet these are the days I am to discover all of this.
I am to walk out of the cage and stand back, turning around to gaze
at the various compartments of my Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box:
The hinges, pulleys, ropes, splices,
bevels, strapping, horns, buzzers, clocks, and radios
that have encumbered and ran its chaotic push towards
A function built and conceived by man.
I am outside of it now
And I dare threaten to call these days
melancholy just because I miss all my meaningless gauges.
At yet I still stand at the doorstep,
in the silent light where Luminosity begins,
the saddest place of all. It's here
that I find attainment in one direction and attachment in the other.
My Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box haloes
from the white glow of a hidden crescent moon.